


sweet child of mine

by Star_less



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Aziraphale is an anxious first time papa leave him be, Complete, Crying, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, baby Crowley, baby talk, caregiver aziraphale, crowley is hell’s own toddler lord help us all, ducklings are dickheads man, the swap goes wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 20:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20494724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: “I asked them for a rubber duck!” He probed, laughter etched in every part of his face as he looked toward Crowley for any sign of a response.Then he looked.Then once more.Crowley, resident loose-living demon of Hell, was... a one year old.A one year old who could just about sit up and who was dribbling all over one chubby fist, that was also in his mouth....Something must have gone wrong during the switch. As Aziraphale stared at this tiny child he became acutely aware of the sound of water dripping off of something. Quietly at first, and then a great deal louder.Oh... it was coming from the child— he was— he was p—“Oh,boll—!“~Switching places to escape their respective side’s punishments results in disastrous consequences for Crowley and throws angel Aziraphale head first into being his caregiver. It goes about as well as you would expect.





	sweet child of mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Good Omens fandom. Don’t mind me. I’m corrupting the fandom again. Read the TAGS, lads gals and non binary pals, if it doesn’t interest you then I suggest you skip on your merry way x  
To anyone else... Yes, I suppose this means I’m sort of off hiatus.
> 
> Inspired by some fanart which is HERE; go on and love it. They have lots - both baby!crowley and baby!aziraphale :)  
https://www.instagram.com/p/BzfluHNoxvG/?igshid=4a703l2dbz5l
> 
> but written for a friend (he knows who he is)
> 
> Michael Sheen please don’t read this. If you do, however, you should totally come to my hometown and let me accidentally bump into you. Please? It’s not that far...

After the armagge_don’t_ had happened you really would have thought that Crowley and Aziraphale would have skipped on joyfully into the sunset never to look back and simply settled back into the mundanity of life in London, plodding along with who knows else.   
Their respective sides had other ideas.   
The fact that their respective sides had other ideas in the first place was enough to make anxiety creep its way onto Aziraphale’s back. Crowley’s too, he had presumed, but the demon had something of a veneer about him and no matter how hard Aziraphale tried he found it impossible to crack. 

Until now. 

“Angel, d’you remember what you said about needing a body?”

Aziraphale paused before nodding slowly. He was beginning to think he knew what Crowley was going to ask. “I do. I was not allowed to take yours.” He reminded.

”...do you remember Nutter’s prophecy?”

”Playing with fire and choosing our faces wisely...?” Aziraphale parroted compliantly. 

Crowley nodded much too quick and much too desperately. He looked to have a moment of hesitation, stood back with the tension forced out of his shoulders, and sighed. “...Switch with me.”

Aziraphale stared. He studied Crowley’s face for just a moment. His big yellow eyes crinkled slightly at the corners; his brow, knit together, was full of anxiety; his face entirely was full of crazed desperation. “Angel,” he pleaded, “Switch with me. Death by hellfire? Agonising for an angel. But it’s like... it’s like...”  
He looked around frantically, trying to conjure up what exactly hellfire ‘was like’. “It’s like stepping into a sauna for a demon!” He blurted.

Maybe, just maybe, the cracks were starting to show. “...Okay, Crowley,” he nodded, psyching himself up. “Stand there. This won’t take but a moment. Ready?”

Crowley nodded, flexing his hands and holding one out toward the Angel expectantly. 

The switch was instantaneous. It was the aftershocks Aziraphale wasn’t overly fond of; the heavy sort of feeling as his body adjusted to... well, not quite being his. Left a sort of... fuzzy feeling in his head for a few minutes, too. 

“Righty-ho then.” Aziraphale beamed as the fuzzy tingles disappeared.   
(Crowley found it disturbing to see his Angel’s mannerisms come out on his face, but... it was what it was.) “...I’m off for a delightful bathe in holy water!”

Switcheroo completed, bath in holy water finished, hellfire well and truly dealt with... Crowley and Aziraphale went to the park. Where else? The park was as inconspicuous as anything. No one would be looking. No one ever looked.

”Anybody looking?” Aziraphale-as-Crowley asked.

Nobody, Crowley-as-Aziraphale replied. 

“Swap back, then,” Aziraphale-as-Crowley beamed, hand outstretched. The soft skin of.. well, him, he supposed, touched his—Crowley’s—calloused palm. The switch was once again instantaneous and still the aftershocks were as irritating as the first time. “Ooh,” Aziraphale hummed, shifting and then slackening his shoulders in bliss. Something about landing in his own body again made him feel ever so... grounded. Content, a bubbling chuckle pressed at his lips. “I made the archangel Michael miracle me a towel!” he snorted, then guffawed, in amusement. He was sure that Crowley would have found this incredibly humourous too... but the demon was unusually quiet.   
“I asked them for a rubber duck!” He probed, laughter etched in every part of his face as he looked toward Crowley for any sign of a response.

Then he looked.

Then once more.

Crowley, resident loose-living demon of Hell, was... replaced. Replaced by... a one year old. A one year old who could just about sit up and who was dribbling all over one chubby fist, that was also in his mouth. Perhaps... perhaps he had gotten mixed up. Perhaps he had stepped away and— and a child had taken his place?  
But there were Crowley’s trademark red locks. There were his shades, which looked ever so comical on such a tiny baby. Oh...   
He... something must have gone wrong during the switch.  
Oh... he only looked to be a year or so old. Fifteen months... eighteen months at a rather large push. Peculiarly his clothes had shrunk to fit him. As Aziraphale stared at this tiny child in almost a trance he became acutely aware of the sound of water dripping off of something. Quietly at first, and then a great deal louder. Torturously slowly the penny dropped.   
Oh... it was coming from the child— he was— he was p—

“Oh, _boll_—!“ 

The baby started crying.  
~

An undetermined amount of time passed that Aziraphale (he was really rather ashamed to admit) spent simply staring at the infant sat next to him and trying to come to terms with their new situation really rather rapidly. He had been walking around knowing that an eleven year old child was the Antichrist, for Heaven’s sakes! This...! this was a minor speck of dust in comparison.  
Pulling his pieces back together Aziraphale scooped the baby up and miracled away the wetness as a quick-fix solution. He couldn’t help but take in the really rather ridiculous look of a one year old child in a leather jacket. It squeaked and crinkled as the baby fussed and batted his arms. Perhaps a wardrobe change was in order; that and some decent... protection... for him.

If the cashier on the front desk at the pharmacy found it odd that the middle aged father who plopped his child on the counter (his only explanation being ‘he’ (wild gesturing at child) ‘was wet’) looked utterly bewildered when he was asked what sort of protection he was looking for, she didn’t let on. If the cashier at the front desk found it odd that the middle aged father with a one year old child looked confused at the prospect of putting a disposable nappy on him, she didn’t let on. “That’s a wetness indicator,” she explained patiently, pointing at the grainy image of a snake on the front. “So you know when to change him.”  
This was met by much nodding and fumbling agreement. Crowley joined in too, gurgling merrily as if either adult could understand him. He was most pleased at the fact that it had a snake on the front!

Fifteen minutes later, the new baby was comfortably changed and Aziraphale had had a most confusing lesson in changing disposable nappies. 

“Right, dear boy.” Aziraphale held Crowley under the armpits and couldn’t help but smile as his legs (mottled pink fat rolls and all; it seemed adulthood had thinned him out considerably!) jiggled happily.   
“...what now?”  
~

They went (back) to the park. The park was Aziraphale’s knee jerk reaction to... to... this.   
In actual fact, he liked the park. Crowley, in all of his ‘bit-of-a-bastard’ and blessedly grown up glory liked the park too— or at least that was what Aziraphale hoped. It really was blissful, he found, to settle back on their favourite park bench watching the candy-floss clouds roll into one another and studying the ripples in the pond as the water waved and slopped. Every now and then the sound of a child’s happy squealing would drift to his ears, and just as the two settled into the sounds of life going on around them they would tuck into ice creams quietly. There was no need to talk - the world did that around them. As they finished their icecream Aziraphale would take out the slices of stale bread he had kept aside, unwrap them from the parcel of newspaper he tucked them into, and they would feed the ducks in happy quiet.   
Maybe... well. Perhaps it was an absurdly giant leap of faith to take, but maybe the newly infant Crowley would enjoy the park just as much...?

The park was... different. Crowley felt as though he had seen it all before and yet somehow it all felt very new and exciting and _different_. The sunshine glittered in the sky and bounced off of the playpark. Children ran and squealed and thudded all over the grass. From his new vantage point (tucked in close on Aziraphale’s hip, naturally) he swore he could see above all of the clouds. Even the slide looked taller than usual, as though if you climbed it you could say hello to all of the birds before you slid down. His legs itched right down into his toes for him to get down; he looked toward the grass and whines impatiently, wriggling against Aziraphale’s side. His toes curled in anticipation. 

“Whatever could be the matter, dear boy?” Aziraphale cooed softly, looking down at the squirming bundle. The gentle coo stitched into his voice (not to mention the nickname!) was a surprising new development, he thought, especially considering he was still juggling the issue of how exactly to look after the squirmingly demonic baby boy the Heavens had thrown at him. Still, it had been said. 

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face, watching with new interest as his mouth moved to shape every new word. It seemed to take him a moment to untangle exactly what the angel was saying but when he did he whined, all impatient and excited, and gave another pointed wriggle as he gestured to the ground. A hopeful little smile tickled at the corners of his mouth. 

“You want to go down?”   
A nod.   
Aziraphale nodded in return and plopped Crowley down on the grass next to him, sinking onto his familiar bench with a quiet hum of appreciation.

On wobbly legs Crowley defiantly pulled himself from his seated position. Walking was something he had very much taken for granted, and now it felt as though his legs were made of jelly. They almost felt as though they would wobble and wriggle and give way underneath him.   
...The problem was that Crowley as a grown man really was a stubborn old bastard. Crowley when he was Hell’s own toddler was... no different. In the company of a child’s parents, school teachers refer to this as being ‘_spirited_’. (Aziraphale, as he watched the wobbly toddler get to grips with his own feet, quite agreed with this descriptor.)  
Crowley stared disapprovingly at his trembling legs and then over at the slide, his target. As he looked at it it seemed to back further and further away - the metal ladder glinted in the sunshine in laughter. Ha-ha-ha, it said. You won’t get to meeee.  
Hmpf. He was going to get to the slide, even if... even if it took him all day long!  
Slowly but surely he took clumsy steps forward, chubby little arms stuck out at his sides for balance like he was pretending to be an aeroplane. He took a successful handful of tentative steps forward and as he did so, a surge of pride flushed through his belly... although he wasn’t quite sure why.

Aziraphale found there was something new about sitting on the ever-so-familiar bench without Crowley sat to the side of him; something new and something that Aziraphale— if he reached deep into the back of his mind to admit it—wasn’t sure he was quite fond of... even moreso when his Demon was a new tiny life in and of himself. Safe in the knowledge that said Demon was toddling fairly inoffensively around the grassy bank nearby the Angel-turned-caregiver dared to allow himself to relax for a moment. It was difficult given the metal of the bench dug it’s teeth into his back and his wings never seemed to lie flush but slowly he sank into tranquility. 

One minute of sinking into tranquility later, someone drifted into his peripheral vision. “He’s bloody adorable. Yours?”

A human..?  
For as long as Aziraphale had been on Earth he had never concerned himself with talking to humans and they had never concerned themselves with talking back. Oh, Aziraphale appreciated the finer things humans had given him — like Dom Pérignon and sushi and Tchaikovsky — but he found humans a tad perturbing, and they found him quite the same.   
Aziraphale thought of he and Crowley. All those years of sharing their bench and not once had anyone ever said hello. “Um. Yes, he is... he belongs to me, yes, I suppose.” 

He was acutely aware of the human giving him a funny look, but he really was having difficulty coming to terms with it. 

“That gorgeous red hair, bless his heart.” The human’s gaze drifted away from the toddling Crowley to Aziraphale’s own crop of hair. “Gets it from his mother?”

”...yes. He does, yes.”

Crowley was still toddling around by himself, awe shining on his face as he shimmied and stepped. Well, this was easy. Why was it that human babies couldn’t walk until they were a year of age? That, as far as the demon was concerned, was a glaring design flaw. Demons were ever so advanced, they managed to teach themselves to walk at only a couple of months o—

The ground suddenly looked a lot closer to his face than it had a few moments prior; then it looked ever so far away. Something had to give and that, evidently, was his balance. Arms outstretched, eyes squeezed shut in horror, the small demon landed backwards with a THWAP. His cushioned rear end hit the grass first and then, for terrifying reasons unknown to him his head connected with the ground too and the young demon found himself staring into the sky and watching the clouds spin around in front of him. 

Here’s an interesting fun fact for you: serpents cannot cry. Any secretions made through crying drip into their mouths rather than the traditional roll-down-the-cheeks-while-the-titanic-soundtrack-plays-in-the-background sort of deal like us humans get. If a serpent (or indeed any other type of snake) is hurt, its initial reaction to pain is to simply roll around hissing.  
Our little boy, Crowley, just so happened to be the serpent of Eden, and so was unable to cry. But our little boy Crowley was only part-serpent and had an incredible set of vocal chords in him as a result. 

Sat on the ground, the ache in his bottom (he had hit his tailbone) registered about five seconds too late and the pounding in his head jumped in on top. Crowley promptly howled, and screamed, and rolled around on the ground as if he was on fire while wondering where exactly his Angel was and why he wasn’t _there_. 

“So cute,” the human cooed. “What’s his name?”

Before Aziraphale could get his words out the ear splitting sound of an upset Crowley cut him off. A tight band tugged around his chest at the sound and he jumped to his feet.   
“Crowley!” He shouted, panic suffocating his every word. The crying didn’t cease at the sound of his voice; rather the sound of his voice was drowned out by the pitiful wailing. With no response from the young demon the angel ran toward where he was laying on the grass and scooped him up in a messy bundle of arms and legs, trying to bounce and ‘shh-shh-shh’ away all of his upset. “Crowley, hush now,” Aziraphale breathed out, his hands blindly patting at Crowley’s back. “Whatever is the matter?  
Frankly it was obvious what was the matter, but anything that got Crowley to stop seizing and wailing was a triumph in his book.

“Ow-w-w-w!” Crowley howled in between his red-faced panting and screaming, putting one chubby hand to his head. 

Aziraphale frowned and scrutinised his bumped head, brushing the baby’s wispy locks out of the way to get the closest look. True to Crowley’s words a warm purple egg was beginning to form where he had bumped his head. At the sight of the bump—it looked awfully painful for such a tiny boy—Aziraphale tutted with sympathy. “Oh, dear boy.” He whispered. “No matter. I can make it better. Magic kiss.” He winked. Young child Crowley may have been but Aziraphale swore the boy ceased his crying to give him a confused nose-crinkling sort of glare. Aziraphale took the boy’s moment of silent confusion to press a kiss to the reddish-purple egg, at the same time performing the quickest of miracles of his own... the egg’s swelling dissipated in an instant. Crowley squirmed at the sudden spike of pain... but then the pain felt like it hadn’t been there in the first place.   
He whimpered, squirmed and finally fell silent. Aziraphale beamed. “Is that better?”

Crowley squirmed. He said something in a mouthful of wet gibberish and matching gestures that might’ve been a, ‘my bottom hurts too’.   
Aziraphale gave him a wide-eyed look of bewilderment at this statement, and pulled a scrunched up sort of face. “Darling boy, I am not kissing your bottom.” 

The statement was so absurd that a smile prickled at the corners of his mouth. The little boy sat on his lap smiled too, then gave him a beam that was full of just-cut fangs, and then finally crumbled into a fit of bursting laughter. Aziraphale grinned, and patted his bottom. “I dare say your nappy cushioned the fall,” he explained. Said napkin was slightly damp, likely from the force of the fall itself, but not quite at ‘desperate for a change’ level yet. Thankfully.

Crowley pouted. “Slide.” he mumbled. All of that effort, and he didn’t get to go on the slide after all. Heck, he had barely made it ten paces. 

“You want to use the slide?”  
Somehow the thought that Crowley may actually want to use the play equipment was a realisation that bowled right into Aziraphale’s chest, knocked him off of his feet and boomeranged him back again in less than five seconds. “...right. Of course, of course you do, dear boy.”  
He adjusted Crowley in his arms and stood, eyeing the slide. “Let’s go, then.”  
~

”That’s quite enough of that, little Demon...” Aziraphale breathed when they had slid down the slide for the fifth time, staggering away with Crowley’s hand tucked tightly in his own.  
(For the sake of his own sanity, Aziraphale took him to the duck pond.)

Here’s another fun fact for you; babies and animals are the only two groups that are able to successfully converse with one another. This isn’t just a skill locked down to celestial beings but to human children too. It is a skill that is outgrown by celestial beings and humans alike by the time they turn four years of age.   
“Abababa... babababa...” Crowley said. Stars twinkled in his eyes as he leaned forward against Aziraphale’s back, pointing in earnest. Some ducks, all fuzzy yellow cotton bottomed, quacked and waddled around Aziraphale’s feet.

“You want to go down?”

An excited nod. Down Crowley was plopped.

”Agabababa... gagaga...” Crowley chirped, his chubby starfish hands outstretched in pursuit of the ducklings toddling around him.

”Yes, darling boy,” his caregiver crooned. “They’re babies, just like you!”

”’Ere,” crowed one of the ducklings noisily, nudging Crowley with its beak. “Brat. Giz us some bread or scram, innit.”

Crowley’s tummy grumped in agreement. He cocked his head in understanding, then nodded. “Mamamagabamaga...” he enthused, cluelessly enough. (_‘I think my Angel has some!’_)  
Toddling to Aziraphale, he tugged at the angel’s trailing trenchcoat lightly.  
The angel looked down. “...Yes?”

”Mamagabababamamada... bababa...” Crowley explained, gesturing at himself, then toward his belly; then at the ducks.

”You want to feed the ducks?” His Angel beamed, and took him off to get some bread.  
~

“Eh up. Quid’s in here lads,” grinned the duckling when their chubby toddler friend appeared with a small sack of torn-up pieces of bread. Crowley beamed, two tiny fangs showing as he thrust his hand into the bag and held up a chunk of bread as if it was a gold nugget retrieved from a mine. He lowered his hand but the swarm of ducklings around him continued watching with beady, interested eyes. 

Slowly, Crowley’s gaze looked from the hunk of bread in his tightly clutched fist, to the expectant ducklings, to his fist. The cogs in his mind, although slow and infantile, began to turn.

His tummy grumped a little more. The cogs turned a little faster.

Crowley plopped down onto the grass, and stuffed the bread into his mouth with a self satisfied “mmm!” of appreciation. He reached into the bag again. 

“Oi!” one of the ducklings yelled, quacking and flapping furiously when it became clear that they weren’t going to get the treasure they so badly sought after. “Oi!” crowed another.   
Then another.   
Then one more. A slow circle of angry ducklings circled the toddler, metaphorically balling their metaphorical fists.  
Crowley squealed, coming to stand on unsteady feet. Clutching his bag of bread tighter, he took off as far as his little legs would carry him, and collapsed down again a little way away. Here, his only company was a squirrel. Slumping back in contentment, the redheaded toddler resumed his snacking quietly.

”Is that mine?”  
The squirrel chirruped in quiet curiosity, padding lightly over to the young child with a few inquisitive sniffles. He had been squirrelling - pardon the pun - food away in preparation for the wintertime. He hoped that this young kit (for, with his bushy red hair he did rather have the look of a young squirrel about him) was not stealing his stowed-away snacks or he would have to start all over again. A terrible bother indeed. 

“Mobapadaba...” Crowley offered, shrugging. That would be a very long winded child’s way of saying ‘no’. “...Angel.”

The squirrel sniffed again, scampering closer to Crowley. Crowley rolled onto his belly with an ‘oompf’ and the squirrel scampered onto his new play-park with curious excitement. Crowley was very, very still. This squirrel looked very red. It had a big bushy tail that looked very soft and fluffety and it had big black eyes with sparkles in the corners.   
Crowley’s eyes glinted. Bread tossed aside, he reached with starfish hands to grab the squirrel in both hands. Oh! He was right! The squirrel _was_ all soft and fluffety!

”Let me go! Kitten let me go!” The squirrel shrieked, squeaking furiously. Crowley gurgled cheerfully, the squeaks only encouraging him to squeeze tighter and giggle. 

“Crowley, _no_!” Aziraphale swore his heart stopped beating there and then. A moment was all he took to feed some swans and the shrieking and cooing was distant to his ears — but evidently a moment was all Crowley needed to harass some squirrels. Oh, Heavens, what if he had got bitten? What if— what if he had gotten rabies?! He was so small...   
“Crowley!” the Angel howled when the toddler showed no sign of listening, scooping him up under the armpits.   
The angel was shaking all over, his hands fumbling messily to tuck the baby in tight and close away from any danger. The squirrel, disturbed, chirruped off to safeguard its winter food.

”...Squirrel?” Crowley whimpered, cocking his head. 

“You do _not_ play with squirrels, Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded. Anxiety was heavy in his voice and so his tone was much louder and sharper than he had intended. “They aren’t toys. They could hurt you!”

Crowley’s face began to crumple up, his lip jutting out in upset. “Squirrel...” he repeated, his voice thick and all choked up with tears. The whimpers came continuously - first little snivels, then whimpers, then his whimpers had that tell tale tremble... then the inevitable happened and they broke out in favour of howls - shoulder shaking, hiccuppy-snivelling sort of howls. This time they were quieter, nowhere near the screaming howls Aziraphale had heard this morning, but they were howls all the same. In between the unhappy howls Aziraphale swore he could hear hisses, raspy, teasing their way up in between his cries too. But most importantly, the toddler was now beginning to rub his eyes.   
“...Oh, darling boy,” Aziraphale tutted in realisation. He was _tired_. “I know, I know you were playing with the squirrel. But, well... he had to go home to his mummy and daddy, just like... just like you have to come home with me.” He said softly.   
The explanation had come around out of nowhere; brain disengaged and mouth moving of its own accord — but somehow it felt right. Just as holding the demon over his shoulder and patting his back felt quite right, too. Against him Crowley’s shoulders squared and trembled but with every pat his palm made on the small of the toddler’s back the trembling began to ebb away. The howling dwindled too, and finally the young demon was silent. 

“Did you want an icecream?” Aziraphale offered the child as they walked. The child was silent. That in itself was a worrying development. It had been not even a full day and Aziraphale had learned not to trust a silent Crowley.  
Crowley as an adult enjoyed icecream so of course his younger counterpart would too, no? All children loved icecream. All children would have been bouncing off of the walls at the mere mention of icecream, would they not? Then— then why wasn’t Crowley...? Oh dear. Perhaps the squirrel had given him rabies after all. Aziraphale peeked, tentatively, at the silent boy, terrified of what he may see. Perhaps the boy had grown a third eye or a second head or—or— 

Crowley was fast asleep - or mostly, anyway. Each pat on his back tugged his eyelids a little bit further closed, and a small pearl of drool collected on the corner of his lip.

Aziraphale chuckled, a hot stone of relief dropping into his belly. He became hyper aware of Crowley’s chest rising and falling. “Icecream for next time then, Demon.”

The Angel was not sure how long the effects of their swap would last. He knew, at least, that it would not be forever but would be longer than one day. He knew, at least, that it was not going to be easy. But he knew deep down that he didn’t really mind any of that old rubbish and he was really rather happy to rise to the challenge. 

Well. So long as Crowley chose not to harass any more squirrels. 

Or throw himself down slides. 

(Or get on the bad side of some ducklings, although Aziraphale seemed to have missed out on that one.)

...on second thoughts, perhaps they would give the park a miss until Crowley was a little bit older.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the bit about snakes? Totally true. Less so about animals and human children being able to talk.
> 
> Comment and kudos me if you liked this. I’ve had a bad few months and it has honestly been so anxiety inducing to even think of posting here but... here I am lol
> 
> I wrote this while eating a welsh cake, drinking a huge fuck off sized gingerbread milkshake n listening to sweet child of mine. the secret life of a writer innit x

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [demons roll the dice angels roll their eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606102) by [Star_less](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less)


End file.
